Whatever You Like
by Lady Wonderful
Summary: A collection of Zemyx drabbles. Mostly in Zexion's POV on Demyx and their relationship as nobodies. Rated just in case, and maybe for later chapters.


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Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters. There. Happy now? DDD;

I don't know how many of these drabbles I'll actually do, but they'll be uploaded in sets of five in any case. They're set in the World That Never Was, so Demyx and Zexion are nobodies. I was trying to make it somewhat serious, or whatever. I just don't think that their lives as nobodies would be all sweetness and light, but if I was writing in AU it'd probabaly be a different story.

Anyhoo, I've really _really_ enjoyed writing these. And I needed a break from the pressure of writing a series. Plus writing in present tense is easier for me, ad more natural. :3

Enjoy!

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Introduction.

A wide smile pins me to the wall, chokes me until I'm breathless. A warm hand stretches out, takes mine, shakes it once, twice, squeezes and then releases. I want to die as I struggle to say my name.

I'm not supposed to be like this.

"Are you okay?" Those lips flip upside down. "You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," I finally reply, coolly, carefully. I brush off an imaginary patch of dust from my trousers. Tie my hands behind my back. I refuse to fiddle with my hands.

He raises an eyebrow, a Cheshire Cat grin in place.

I can't stop staring at that mouth.

"You're… Zexion. Right?"

"Of course. And you are…?"

They press together, fat, pouting, adorable. "I told you already. I'm Demyx. Weren't you listening?"

I say nothing.

They become elastic again. "I've been in this place for a while, actually… it's really weird, huh? I haven't seen you before, though."

"I've been on a mission for a long time. I didn't expect to see a new face here."

He looks alien in the cloak. His collar bone is exposed, and it tightens around his body in all the right places, yet he fidgets with the sleeves every two seconds, huffing. I can't help but admire the way he carries it off.

"It was really worth the wait meeting you," he nods finally, lips curling into a bashful smile. "I've heard a lot of things about you from the others, but I'd never of thought you were this pretty."

My heart may have fluttered. It may have done nothing.

Who knows? I don't have one.

But I hate you for making me think about it.

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Innocence.

Stripped bare. Almost.

Our boxers are the only obstacle between us. And I'm terrified.

He's straddling my waist, lean, long legs tight against mine, keeping me close. The kiss tastes like coconut. As he rears up, I drag my tongue across my lips, dying to savour the taste before he comes back down to kiss me again.

But he doesn't.

I blink up at him, and he's blinking back, clicking his tongue and examining me as if I'm covered head to foot in a henna tattoo. Eventually, I become frustrated, and snap at him.

"What?"

He cocks his head to the side, furrows his brow. It really shouldn't be so hard for him to answer me, but he bites his lip and shakes his head and his damp, blonde spikes shuffle about like savannah grass.

"How old are you Zexion?"

I throw him a rare look. (_I don't understand.) _"I've been a nobody for-"

"No, I don't mean it like that," he's shaking his head again. "I mean, your age when you became a nobody." I can see it pains him to say it. Demyx lives in his delusional bubble of denial far too often to be healthy. So I give him an answer.

"I'm seventeen."

He's shocked and we're blinking at each other again. I wish he'd just hurry up and take me already. I'm sweating and so nervous I could puke.

"So… you've never done this before?"

I nod, my pale face stained pink. I had never cared about this before, always too proud to sacrifice myself to someone I felt nothing for, but now I'm embarrassed. And scared. Scared he'll leave me for this.

"Aw, Zexy, it's okay," he tells me softly, and kisses my forehead. He can feel me trembling. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do." He rubs our noses together, and I sigh, ragged and breathless.

It's kind of embarrassing to have Demyx make you feel like the most innocent person alive.

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Under the Rain.

Outside, the rain falls thick, hard, pelting at the window with enough force to smash it. Peering through the condensation, I try to spot you amongst the black of the city, but it's difficult, and for once, I teleport outside to join you, to find you.

Green eyes are gently closed, dirty blonde hair limp, drenched and dark brown, a wide smile so genuine curling up to catch the beads of water that collect on your face.

Why does the rain mean more to you than I do?

"Demyx," I choke on the stifling humid air, the ice cold bullets burning my throat. My hesitant arm snakes out to touch you, but I'm scared to break your beauty, suffocating in awe.

"Zexy," you smile, finally noticing me as you turn around. "What are you doing here?" You're soaked to the skin, your cloak and hair melted onto your handsome frame in _the _most delicious way.

"I want to stand with you," I whisper quietly, throat hoarse with lust.

You hold out a hand, and I grab it, an instant, frantic, reaction, and in the next moment I'm on my tiptoes and kissing your wet mouth hungrily, desperately. I want you, I _need _you.

It's too good to waste. You're pulling me up, and my feet, frightened, have lost their ground, and wrap around your waist instinctively. (Our lips are liquid fire.)My hands are all over your face, fingers in your hair, stroking your neck, and you whimper out some sort of strangled, tortured noise, because your hands are tied, carefully holding on to me so I can't fall. And all the while my (our) skin is pounding with every drop that explodes on contact, running down us, drowning us in the best possible sense, because you _are _the rain, and you're unknowingly touching me _everywhere_ and it's perfect.

Air is needed, and our steam subsides for the moment. Gently, I bite your ear and whisper, "Wow, kissing in the rain _is _all it's cracked up to be after all."

"Huh, that's nothing," he breathes back. "Just wait until we get to my room…"

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Illusion.

"When I was little, me and my sister and our friends used to play house," Demyx tells me cheerfully. We are working in the kitchen, preparing tonight's dinner. (There's a rota.)

"My sister and _me." _The correction is instinctive, more immediate than the blink of an eye. He shrugs at me, hurt, and sucks at his blood-stained finger for a moment, and then continues chopping the carrots.

"I was always the daddy, and I was a rockstar, but I'd always come home like it was a regular nine-to-five," he sighs wistfully at the memory, and I almost feel sorry for him, until he whips around excitedly and grins, "Did you ever play house?"

I flinch at the question. "Of course not, I'm a realist. Have always been a realist, and never intend to be anything else other than that, _ever_."

"Suit yourself." Demyx stops talking. I can't understand it. Why isn't he whining in my ear, verbally chiselling me into I give in to what he wants to hear? ("But, you must've played it _once." "_Come _on, _Zexy_. _Stop being so _difficult."_)

Maybe I'm a liar. There are times when I do play pretend, hide away by myself, act out how it would be if I could ever have my heart back.

In front of the mirror, I smile at my reflection as if I'm feeling true happiness. If I smile hard enough, stretch those lips to my ears, have my eyes sparkle like fairy dust, maybe I will be able to feel it.

I never do.

I pretend I'm in love. So happy I could sing, surrounded by twittering birds and fluffy squirrels and all that sugar-coated Disney bullshit. Or I feign a broken heart, try to bring myself to cry out, miserable, hollow and ill. I pretend that it's Demyx who makes me feel like this, it helps, the picture is painted perfect, but it's never enough.

The silence is, at last, broken. "Really, Zex," he sighs, untying his apron. "How can the 'Master of Illusion' be a _realist_?"

An illusion is just a house of cards after all.

(_Two-Dimensional, a trick, fake._)

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Playing the Melody.

Sitting on his bed, legs crossed, pink tongue poking out, concentrating, he cradles his beloved sitar. Those fingers, rough and experienced from a lifetime of plucking metal caress each string with a certain fondness that inspires both awe and jealousy within me. (Or something like it, at least.)And I lean forward in appreciation for that beautiful, unreal sound that can't possibly be coming from that bulky instrument, from _Demyx_.

Around the room, transparent turquoise dances elegantly, rippling, preparing to leap with every note those fingers strike. Bubbles float aimlessly, occasionally kissing my cheek and bursting with an elegant pop, leaving my skin damp but warm from a sudden hot flush.

And all the while I can hear this exotic sweetness that curls around my body, through my ears, down my spine, caressing all my senses, drowning me. I'm shivering, and whispering, and throwing my head back in subtle ecstasy as every note touches me _right there_.

Lying down on the squashy blue duvet, my eyes shut, my breathing calms, eyelashes flicker. I'm mesmerised, stunned, soaking in this beauty like a flower steals light.

This is as close to love as I could ever get.

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Reviews are very much appreciated. I'd love to hear your thoughts on it, it means a lot. :3


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